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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098462">Midnight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunavichi/pseuds/Lunavichi'>Lunavichi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Club Penguin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coming Out, Crying, Family Feels, Gen, Introspection, Supportive Aunt Arctic, Trans Male Character, Trans Rookie, its more likely than you think, kind of?, listen this is just a soft fic with a lil bit of angst sprinkled in, no beta we die like men, self-projection? in my writing?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunavichi/pseuds/Lunavichi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>12am. Awake. Nothing new.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rookie &amp; Aunt Arctic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Midnight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>listen. i know i'm self projecting. shut up<br/>i wrote this in one sitting apologies if its bad</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>12am. Wide awake, like the day before, and before that. Yet at the same time <i>exhausted.</i> Exhausted of keeping up an act, of responding to a name that felt <i>so wrong,</i> of looking in the mirror and seeing <i>her.</i></p><p>
He sat up. 12:05am. Swung his legs over the side of his bed and slipped off. Winced at the regular shake of his chest. Shook it off. Debated whether to switch on the light, but decided against it. He preferred not to look at himself at times like these. For once, he was glad he forgot to plug in his night light.
</p><p>
Fumbling through the dark, he finally made it to the closet and grabbed the largest hoodie he owned. He slipped it on and immediately felt allievement, however temporary it was. He loved how baggy it was and would hide curves in all the wrong places, and how his hands could retreat into the sleeves. Most of all, it covered up his chest. He could pretend, even for the briefest of moments, that all of it had disappeared.
</p><p>
12:11am. Feeling slightly better than before, he swung open the door, careful to stop it before he knew it would creak, and crept along the hall. He paused, taking some time to rub his feet on the carpet. He knew it was odd, but he enjoyed the texture of it on his bare skin.
</p><p>
Before he knew it, he had made it to the kitchen, the only source of light coming from the various digital clocks on the appliances. 12:14am. Grabbing a small glass, he turned on the tap and filled it with water. Some spilled out onto his hand, but he didn’t mind. It was refreshing, even; a contrast from the warmth of his room.
</p><p>
Making his way back upstairs, he winced at every step he took. He <i>hated</i> every miniscule movement his chest made. Sure, going down the stairs was worse, but it didn’t make the other way a particularly <i>enjoyable</i> experience.
</p><p>
About to turn down the hallway he originally came from, he noticed a light coming through a crack in one of the doors. His aunt’s, he remarked. It must have been on earlier but he didn’t take note of it.
</p><p>
He knew he could talk to her about anything.
</p><p>
Anything but <i>this.</i>
</p><p>
He was sick of it. Sick of being seen as <i>her.</i> Sick of <i>being</i> her.
</p><p>
12:21am.
</p><p>
12:22am.
</p><p>
Standing there, frozen. Wanting to move, but he was against a torrent of thoughts and threatening to sink. <i>He</i> would be gone, but <i>she</i> would not. He would be swept away into a stream of <i>what if</i>s and <i>should have</i>s and <i>could’ve been</i>s. He was weighed down by a ball and chain of <i>ma’am</i> and <i>lady</i> and <i>miss</i>, and he couldn’t take it anymore, he didn’t have the strength.
</p><p>
He was drowning.
</p><p>
12:24am.
</p><p>
His water wasn’t appealing anymore.
</p><p>
12:25am.
</p><p>
Before he could register what he was doing, he was stepping forward and knocking gently on the door in front of him. It opened, revealing his aunt, still in her work clothes and bags under her eyes. Nonetheless, she gave him a kind and patient smile and motioned for him to come in.
</p><p>
After all, she was used to agents coming to her for support at all hours.
</p><p>
When they both settled in their chairs comfortably, Aunt Arctic spoke, “What’s the matter, Roe? Something on your mind?”
</p><p>
He winced. It was a nickname, but it was still <i>her.</i> “Nana, can I talk to you about something?"
</p><p>
Her smile persisted, although he noticed a faint upturn of her eyebrows. “Of course, dear. You know I’ll always listen to what you have to say.”
</p><p>
He looked away, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. His unshaven legs kicked back and forth, feet occasionally knocking together. He wished he could just <i>sit still</i> for once. “Well,” he began, but swiftly trailed off.
</p><p>

    <i>Just tell her.</i>

</p><p>
“I…"
</p><p>
His brain was running , gears turning so fast he thought they’d melt, yet his mouth was stock-still. His voice would not come out; it was stuck in his throat, along with his heart. His mind was voicing the phrase like a mantra, begging, <i>pleading</i> to be let out.
</p><p>
The pressure was unbearable.
</p><p>
12:32am.
</p><p>
The floodgates opened.
</p><p>
“I’m a boy.”
</p><p>
He was shaking now, tears threatening to fall down his freckled cheeks. His eyes were steadily trained on his lap, not daring to look up and see Aunt Arctic’s reaction. He heard the chair creak as she stood up and slowly approached him. His eyes squeezed shut as the first tear ran down his face.
</p><p>
She bent down and gingerly reached her arms around his back. “Oh, honey…” her tone was almost a whisper, so gentle, “I love you.”
</p><p>
He let out a whimper and dug his face into her collarbone, squeezing back tightly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry."
</p><p>
Her hand came up to stroke the back of his head, “You have nothing to be sorry for, dear. I am so proud of you, whoever you decide to be.”
</p><p>
They stayed in their embrace for what seemed like hours to him, eventually calming down enough to stop shaking. She let him pull away from the embrace when he was ready, and he looked at her for the first time since he came in the room. There was no trace of hate or negativity on her face, just pure and unconditional love.
</p><p>
12:44am.
</p><p>
“There’s… another thing, as well.” He managed to choke out, voice finally being confident enough to function.
</p><p>
Aunt Arctic put her hand on his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready. Take your time.”
</p><p>
“I don’t like… I don’t like my name.” He flushed at this, feeling self-conscious. “Can you- Can I be called Rookie from now on?” The tears were threatening to fall again, but he managed to keep them at bay.
</p><p>
“Of course, dear. Rookie is a lovely name for such a handsome nephew.”
</p><p>
12:46am.
</p><p>
Rookie smiled.
</p>
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